So I wrote this when I should be studying for AP's. Yay productivity.
Anyway, warning for major character death and suicidal thoughts (this is Dazai we're talking about, after all).
Enjoy.
~º~
"You know," Atsushi says teasingly, "If this is what it takes to make you stop trying to kill yourself, I would have done it much sooner."
Dazai turns his back to him and carefully picks up the knife and examines the blade.
"Hmm? What's that for?"
He can feel Atsushi's breath hot on his ear and he can't stop the slight shiver that runs down his spine. Dazai grabs the whetstone from his desk and deliberately begins to sharpen the blade in consistent, rhythmic patterns, leaving the boy's question unanswered. For a few moments, the consistent shriek of the knife is the only sound in the dark room.
"Dazai-san," Atsushi complains in a half amused, half long-suffering tone, "Why did you bring me here if you were just going to ignore me?"
Dazai can here the pout in his voice, can see the wilting of his brows, the brush of uneven bangs across his forehead, all without looking at him. Dazai wonders, briefly, if Atsushi's eyes are alight with mirth, if they are dancing with humor like they used to. He does not turn around. Atsushi pulls away with a sigh.
"You know," Atsushi says, the words cold and flat, a stark contrast to his previously playful tone. "If you hadn't ignored me before, we might not be in this situation." The statement carries weight and accusation and undeniable truth. Dazai's heart clenches painfully, but he makes no indication of it. His face is a stone mask and his hands are a well-oiled machine, precisely sharpening the blade in smooth, even strokes.
Atsushi goes to lay on Dazai's futon. He stretches his arm toward the ceiling as if try to grab the stars beyond the plaster and pull them down to him.
"I used to think that you really cared about me. That you may have even loved me." Atsushi pauses, letting the metallic ring of blade-on-stone fill the room.
"I guess you didn't care enough to save me."
The knife stills then, as Dazai can barely keep his hands from shaking. He bows his head, chestnut hair hanging in his eyes. I tried, he wants to scream, I tried to save you but it wasn't enough. I was never enough. For all the usefulness of his talent, for all his reflexes and skill, he could not even save the person he has come to realize he cares most about. The person he loves. Dazai cannot make the words leave his lips, cannot bring himself to respond to the accusation. Instead he stares unseeingly at his hands, laden with a weapon and a promise.
"That's what I thought," Atsushi says coldly to Dazai's silence. "You really are heartless aren't you?"
Dazai does not even try to challenge him, even though the words run him through better than Hawthorne's Scarlet Letter. He's not altogether sure Atsushi is wrong, anyway. His talent's name feels strangely fitting: No Longer Human. He wonders, briefly, if he ever was human in the first place. Dazai hears a small thump as Atsushi's arm falls back to rest at his side. The room is eerily quiet and all Dazai can hear is the traitorous whispers of his own heart. You're alive, it murmurs. You're alive and he's not and it's all your fault.
A sudden loud banging at the door shatters the heavy silence. Dazai can hear Kunikida ranting through the wall. Atsushi sits up.
"I guess that's my cue to leave." Atsushi turns to Dazai and their eyes meet for the first time of their exchange. Dazai's breath catches in his throat and he knows, he knows, that this is not real, that this Atsushi is not his Atsushi, that it is all in his head. But the pain is still there and the regret and the despair and I'msosorrythiswasnevermeanttohappen— But his hopelessness is cut off by more of Kunikida's banging ("I swear to god, Dazai, you better open this door right now—") and not-Atsushi's final comment.
"Don't do anything I wouldn't do, O-sa-mu~."
And with a feral grin, the apparition fades away, leaving behind only damaged words and broken memories. Dazai is relieved, really, because that thing is not Atsushi, but at the same time he almost wishes it would stay, if only to see his beautiful, innocent smile again.
His chest feels tight and he is finding it harder to breath than usual. He holds the (now razor-sharp) blade up to the light and wonders if two quick slashes to the wrist would be better. If Atsushi would forgive him this one, final weakness. Kunikida bangs on the door again. Dazai sighs, tucking the blade away and out of sight. No time for that now. Not yet. Not until Atsushi's murderer has been sufficiently made to suffer, like he suffered in his final moments. A cold grin steals its way onto Dazai's face. For once, his time as the mafia's top interrogator/torturer will pay off. One revenge. Then he can go freely. After all, what need does he have for a beautiful woman when his favorite tiger is waiting for him just across the River?*
~º~
*In Japanese mythology, there is a river that separates the dead and the living, similar to the River Styx in Greek mythology.
Please leave a review on your way out.